Magical Blood
by Skyhiatrist
Summary: Petunia realises something she should have a long time ago.


A/N: A big thank you to everyone who reviewed My Fragile Boy. It's really a great feeling to get honest helpful reviews. Thanks again. I may try to make this one a bit more than a one-shot, depends if my gremlins can be kept at bay long enough! I hope you enjoy this one.

She stood outside of his door, staring at the stained wood, one hand curled precariously around the cold metal handle. Inside she could hear the soft, snuffling sounds of a boy fast asleep, and she wondered if it was worth waking him. If she was honest with herself, she knew it was, but she was uncertain of her own bravery. Would it be better if she kept just one more little secret? Her life had been a world of cover-ups and fluttering excuses thus far, it would really make no difference at all.

But she was frightened of what she had found out. Frightened of what it would mean for her and those she cared about. For what seemed like an age, she had shunned what she knew coursed through her veins, shunned it in favour of a more acceptable life, but she knew from what had happened to her earlier that day, that it was time for her to face that which she had denied for so long.

It had started out as a day as normal as any other. Her son Dudley was away with his friends, telling her that he had gone for tea, but she had a deep suspicion that he was not the angel he pretended to be. Her loyal husband Vernon had been sitting comfortably in the living room, watching a game show and cursing under his breath whenever he answered a question wrong. She herself had been in her kitchen, washing up the dishes from the morning when they had had the next door neighbours around for a late breakfast. Of course, when there was company only the fine crockery was to be used, and she smiled fondly as she rinsed the foam off of a pretty blue-patterned tea cup.

As she had moved to place the cup in the drying rack, the wet china had slipped from her grasp and plummeted toward the cold tiled floor. Petunia had braced herself, waiting for the tinkling crash and the inevitable disappointment that would come from breaking her favourite set, but it did not come. After what seemed like forever she risked opening an eye slightly, and was both amazed and horrified to see the cup floating mere inches from the terracotta. Her mind immediately raced up to the smallest bedroom in her house, where her nephew lay shut in his room, no doubt concocting some spell or fawning over that messy bird of his. This must have been his doing, after all, he was a...

No, she couldn't even think it. It shamed her deeply to think that they shared blood ties. That sister of hers, being what she was, sometimes it made her sick to her very stomach. Mostly when she lay next to Vernon at night after Harry had first arrived, hearing her husband's insistance that the boy never find out how abnormal he was. And he was quite right too, agreed Petunia as Vernon drifted off slowly into sleep, but for many nights she would sit downstairs until it got light, grieving for the sister she had lost and despising the magics that had killed her. It wasn't that Petunia believed wizardry to be dirty, she believed it to be evil. It had taken away her sister, the sister she had loved despite their obvious differences. And the boy was all she had left now, all that remained of a world she had been teetering on the edge of for so long.

And it was now that she stood outside of Harry's door, not knowing whether to thank him or to scold him or to even go in at all. It wasn't particually late; Dudley wasn't even back home yet, but the boy had seemed so very tired of late. Her mothering instincts towards Harry had never been strong, Petunia knew, but they were definitely there. She would curb them in front of her family so often that it had become second nature, but every now and then she ached to ask him what was wrong, why did he look so tired, so worried, so scared? It seemed all of these things racing through her mind had pushed her to a desicion, and she knocked softly on Harry's door, desperate for Vernon not to hear from his armchair downstairs.

There was no answer, but then she had not expected there to be. The knock had not been loud enough to rouse even the softest sleeper, she knew she was just testing herself. Feeling out her own nerves to see if she had the resolve to go through with it. She knocked again, louder this time, and heard the sound of sheets being thrown off of a weary body.

The door slowly opened and Harry appeared, missing his trade mark glasses which Petunia assumed must still be on his bedside table. His hair was sticking up at all angles, the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead defiantly prominant. It was this scar that pained Petunia the most, and she wished he would smooth his hair down and hide it again. It was a reminder of how harsh she had been to a boy who was in desperate need of love. He had lost both of his parents, and now his only family in the world were people who would despise him for what he was. Many a time she had longed to hold him when he wished for his parents, but she had never been able to, never been allowed to expose herself. He rubbed his eyes sleepily as she stood before him, nervously wringing her hands.

"Aunt Petunia?" he managed, but Petunia had difficulty finding her voice. Harry was sharply regaining focus, obviously supposing that he must be in trouble or she wouldn't be there. Petunia suddenly wished that the ground would swallow her whole. What had she done? She was not strong enough to go through with this, to go against everything she had every pretended to be. "Aunt Petunia?" her nephew said again softly. It was now or never.

"Oh, Harry," she finally managed, still not quite sure what to say. "May I come in?" Harry looked at her, stunned. Her civility was something he was most definitely not used to, but he stepped aside anyway and she walked cautiously into his room. Silly though it was, she had always expected this room to be littered with magical boobytraps. Before it had angered and frightened her, but now she was slightly shocked to find she was a little intrigued as well.

She sat down tentively on the end of his bed, and after a moment's pause he closed the door and joined her there. He leaned over and put his round glasses back on as she looked about his room. Both the window and the owl's cage were open, but the animal itself was nowhere to be seen. "Hedwig, isn't it?" said Petunia, gesturing to the empty cage.

"Um, yes," said Harry, clearly still ill at ease. "How did you know?"

"I hear you calling her at night sometimes, when I'm downstairs. She's very beautiful, even if she does make an awful mess." Petunia had no idea why she was making this small talk, but it felt good to be sitting here, having a conversation with the boy at last. But was boy the right word? Every time he went away to that school, he always came back looking a little older, a little wiser than he had before. She had not noticed until now that her nephew was slowly becoming a man.

Harry smiled at her as she spoke about his beloved pet, but it was the smile of someone who suspected a trick. Petunia felt an old sadness stirring deep inside her, but it was nothing she wasn't prepared for. The boy hated her, as he should, she was a terrible mother to him. "What did you want, Aunt Petunia?" Harry said, eager to get to the point of her visit so she would leave him alone again. Petunia sighed. If that was what he wanted, it was only fair.

"Something happened today, in the kitchen, and I wondered why you did it," she said slowly, fear now gripping her like an ice cold vice. She was terrified of what was coming.

"What happened?" said Harry, a small look of confusion splitting over his face.

"A spell of some sort, a protection spell maybe," she said, trying to sound offhand, "I'm not sure what's what in your world." Petunia took a deep breath, she had done it.

"What kind of spell? I mean, what happened to you?" said Harry, the amazement spreading across his face in a way that ammused Petunia for a brief second.

"Not to me exactly Harry, to something of mine. I dropped one of my very expensive blue tea cups when I was washing it up, but instead of smashing on the floor it just hovered there until I picked it up. I was ever so relieved but at the same time, it was scary. I know magic isn't really appreciated in this house, and I know I don't..." here she took another deep breath, "I know I don't deserve your kindness Harry, but thank you for doing it. It meant a lot to me." Harry stared at her, his mouth hanging open like a fish. She stood up to leave, but he placed his hand on her arm to stop her.

"It wasn't me, Aunt Petunia," he said quietly. "I didn't do anything." Petunia froze. She had all but known this was the real truth, but now the tiny shred of hope she had been hanging on to had snapped, and it was gone. "You know I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school, intentional or otherwise. It must have been..." Harry didn't finish his sentence, but he didn't need to. Petunia sat back down on the bed heavily.

"It was me?" she whispered, either to Harry or herself.

"It must have been," Harry replied. Petunia stared down at her hands. They usually looked so tired, no doubt from years of washing and scrubbing and cleaning. But now they seemed different, like an invisible energy was coursing through them. Magical blood. It was inside her, and she had known it for years. But now it had escaped, it was free, and in a strange way, so was Petunia. She turned to Harry with tear-filled eyes, and was surprised to see him smiling. He must have been able to sense her relief. Everything that had passed between them for the past sixteen years seemed to be forgotten in that instant.

"Harry?" Petunia was gripped by something else. A new found thirst.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?" Harry said with a slight smile.

"Tell me everything, about your world, about _our_ world, the spells, the potions, the people. Everything. Tell me everything about you Harry, about everything you've done. About that scar, about what it means. Even in this world, a scar like that can only mean hero."

- THE END -

I'd greatly appreciate any feedback, and will gladly write more if it is so desired, as this one was a blast to write! - Sky.


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